


Stranger sight to wake

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: To Wander [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ander is pronounced Awnder, Avians are bird people, Creatures, Drabble, Gen, Humor, H’min are humans, Not exactly second person POV?, Rescue, Serpens are snake people, Silly, Sky-ward is self explanitory, Strange adventures, Test Work, Underland is people who burrow or live under bushes or ground, Unlund is a language, ans only mentiones, as in Wander, birb, but with slightly different features, geddit?, gonna ferget this all later, no limbs tho, oh to woods of dreary darkning deep, sneeple, where once the terrors lingering sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: Vaguely based off of this meme I found: https://www.instagram.com/p/B8PsUG0AYli/?igshid=1e0rp096yjm0gWanted to write this. . .Sona? Ego? Whatever you wanna call ‘em. They were in Dreamember recently.
Series: To Wander [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725868
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Stranger sight to wake

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely based off of this meme I found: https://www.instagram.com/p/B8PsUG0AYli/?igshid=1e0rp096yjm0g
> 
> Wanted to write this. . .Sona? Ego? Whatever you wanna call ‘em. They were in Dreamember recently.

They’re roused, slowly, by a pounding head and the muffled rush of their blood. There’s a dullness as their senses return, and they can’t help but wonder just what had happened.

They open their eyes.

A ceiling, bathed in faint light that could only come from yellowed lamps. Last they remember were the stars breathing overhead. The shrieking nightfall.

Slowly, The Wanderer sits up, takes stock. Limbs, intact, outfit rugged but without a weave intact besides. Their coat pockets are soft, the worn brown leather no worse for wear. There’s nothing in them, save a pin, pinned inside the left.

Good.

A clanking from the kitchen startles them, and they shift. The couch they are on is red, something lacy and white thrown over the back. The room is simple, warm; soft reds and golds and tans. Heavy curtains, the same red as the couch block the light.

This is all passed by in a matter of seconds, as they swiftly turn their attention to the kitchen. A muttering whistle is heard. A swear in Unlund, the Underlands language.

There is no door, just an open way in. They catch a flash of yellow.

Slowly, they stand. Make their way over. Their boots make no sound as they slink. Ander stops, silent in the opening.

A great avian-creature is making pasta.   
  
Ander smells the tomato paste before anything, hence how they know. That and the bird is in the act of pouring circle noodles into the mixture.

The bird startles.

“Oh!” And he - the creature has strikingly male plumage - drops the strainer heavily on the stove, a wing clapped to his heart. “I didn’t see you there, H’min. Are you hungry, perchance?”

The Wanderer shrugs.

“Well then,” and he is back to stirring, mixing it together, “it’s almost done. And surely you’re famished. I found you, gone from waking, out in the field. It’s dangerous during this season, what with the absent light and the shrieking storms.” There’s a chitter, and then the surprising splash of Unlund. They didn’t want to assume, but most avians tended to live Sky-ward, not Underground.

“You can call me Ged, if you’d like. It’s short for Ged’meh-on. A bit too much of a gargle if you ask me,” Ged laughed. Then he inclined a yellow and green wing towards them. “And you, fellow?”

“The Wanderer. Sometimes Ander, though I prefer the former.”

“Hmm, hmm. A title bearer I see. Don’t hear of that often amongst H’min; at least, without a name pairing. Like John The Brave and what-not. Odd names. Although,” he pauses in the stirring, one wingtip brushing the bottom of his beak in thought. “Although, as my name is from the Serpens, I can’t particularly make comment.”

Serpens, the scaled ones. That make sense on the long winding name, then.

“So, would you like to join me for dinner.”

“That sounds fine,” they answer at last.

It passes okay. Ander even feels safe enough to remove their boots, and they lightly kick their feet over the floor. The callouses are thick on the heals and front ‘palm’ like part, so that they may as well be pads like those found on paws. Ged makes no comment, eating his food and whistling words in between conversation.

Ander is still careful with what information they part, but overall the bird seems trust worthy.

They end up spending the better part of four days there, recovering and giving the older Avian company. They learn much, like how he had fallen from nest young after his clutch had been attacked, and how the Serpens took him in. He couldn’t fly, thought not from lack of trying, and one day let his wings be clipped in a show of loyalty to the knotted nest he grew up in.

(His name, apparently, meant “gift of the azure sky”.) 

In the end, they were somewhat sad to depart, but all journeys must end for another to start. So, The Wanderer bid goodbye, and took the road to their next journey.


End file.
